Chapter Thirty-One – The Trial – Part One #2
Afterward, my brothers and I head upstairs and get dressed.
We wear the suits we had made just for the trial, but none of us are used to ties.
I fumble with mine for a minute before Jo steps in and fixes it for me.
She adjusts each of us with quiet, practiced hands.
Her dad wore one every Sunday for church, so she’s used to doing it.
We split into two cars again. Shane squeezes into the front seat of the F-150 with Jo and her uncle Jean. Jay drives the Bronco with me and Jean’s brothers, Henri and René.
Before Jay starts the engine, my phone buzzes with a message from Jayme.
Meet you out front. Renner’s already there.
When we pull up to the courthouse, it’s chaos. The crowd is thick. Dozens of reporters and camera crews are already in position. Officers from Milstone PD handle the perimeter, keeping reporters behind the line, guarding the steps, watching the crowd.
Some people are holding protest signs, most of them in Luc’s favor .
“Protect Human Rights.”
“Monsters in Uniform.”
“No One’s Above the Law.”
But there are also a few that say, “Equal Rights for Aegis.”
Jayme waits for us at the base of the courthouse steps, standing beside Renner. I freeze in confusion when I see that they’re both smiling wide. Jayme’s practically vibrating. He doesn’t even wait for us to reach him before blurting it out.
“Gesson’s out! Judge Conway’s on the bench. We’re walking into a real trial.”
Wait. What?
“It was a political tug-of-war, and we almost lost,” Renner says, eyes bright.
“We flagged Judge Gesson’s history of anti-aegis rulings and submitted it to the ethics board.
But the DoD was pressuring them hard to keep him.
After days of stalled negotiations, MAB went around them.
Yesterday, they offered the Administrative Office of the U.S.
Courts a dedicated detachment of aegis packs to serve as personal security for federal judges assigned to high-risk cases.
In exchange, they asked for Gesson to be removed from this one.
“That deal sweetened the pot just enough. The AO leaned on the ethics board and pushed Gesson out. Conway was already vetted. She was ready to step in the moment the window opened. The decision came through officially thirty minutes ago.”
I can’t believe it. I glance at my brothers, and they’re both speechless, staring like they’re not sure if this is real.
Jo’s quiet sob breaks the silence. She reaches for us, grabbing Jay first, and Shane and I fold in around her. Her hands clutch whatever part of us she can reach as her shoulders shake. Our chests hum too loud as my mind spins, trying to catch up.
Do we have a shot now?
The realization slowly takes me. I can fix my mistakes. If we win this trial, we can go home with Jo.
I’ll learn to live with Aranya walking free. I’ll make peace with it. If we walk out of here today, I’ll request a transfer. Anywhere. As far as they’ll let us go. Maybe west, somewhere closer to her family. Somewhere Aranya will never hear of us again.
My thoughts turn frantic, my pulse wild.
We can win this.
We can win this.
We can win this.
I can’t even feel the floor beneath my boots as we move toward the courtroom. I’m floating.
When we step inside, it’s already packed.
S?nia and Alice are here. And unexpectedly, I see every single pack from the garrison. All of them standing together. Aegis in pressed suits, shoulders squared, silent and massive. The humans in the room look even smaller beside them.
Jo squeezes our hands, one by one, before a court officer comes to escort her through the witness entrance. Her uncles give her a small nod as she passes, then they head to the gallery and take seats near the front.
Jayme and Renner lead us toward the defense table. I take the middle seat, with Shane to my right and Jay to my left.
Papers are laid out. Water cups. Jayme checks his tablet. Renner smooths his tie.
At the far edge of the room, the jury box is already full. Twelve jurors: six men, six women.
A clerk enters quietly and hands a file to the bailiff.
“All rise,” the bailiff announces. “The Honorable Judge Leigh Conway presiding.”
The room stills, and everyone stands. The doors behind the bench open, and Judge Conway steps in wearing a black robe, with short dark hair and an unreadable face.
She doesn’t sit right away, calmly scanning the room.
Then she speaks. “This court recognizes the public interest in these proceedings, but this is not a political event. It is not a spectacle. This is a court of law. And this case will be decided on evidence, and evidence alone.”
She finally sits. The trial has begun.
She glances toward the State’s table. “Prosecution, you may proceed with your opening statement.”
The District Attorney buttons his jacket slowly, then steps forward. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this case may seem complicated, but at its core, it is simple.”
He paces slowly in front of them, voice even, confident. “On the night of May eleventh, two thousand twenty-five, a pack of aegis hosted a private barbecue at their home. Luc Knolson, an unarmed human, attended.”
He stops just short of the jury box. “An interaction took place. Words were exchanged. And Mr. Knolson was punched unconscious. He suffered a concussion, facial fractures, and was hospitalized.”
He glances toward me, Jay, and Shane, then back to the jury. “The defense will argue that this was protection. That it was instinct.”
He raises his hand slightly. “But the law is not built on instinct. It’s built on accountability.
On proportionality. On facts. And you will see: what happened was not justified.
It was not defense. It was assault. Three aegis, each significantly larger and stronger than the victim, used overwhelming force against a man who never stood a chance of defending himself. That is not protection, is brutality. ”
He walks back to his table and sits. One juror in the front row nods slightly.
Judge Conway looks at Renner. “Defense, your opening.”
Renner rises slowly, adjusts his jacket, then steps forward.
He looks at the jury, voice light. “You just heard a version of events that is clean, easy and labeled. But that’s not how real life works.”
He steps closer. “On that evening, a drunk man made sexual comments to a woman and advanced on her. And the people who love her, who are legally bonded to her, acted to protect her.”
Renner turns slowly. “You will hear from that woman. You will hear from eyewitnesses. You will see the toxicology report. You will hear from a police officer who was there that night. And all of it, every word, every fact, will point to one truth: they were protecting their mate. And the law does not punish you for defending someone you love.”
He returns to the table. A juror near the back shifts in her seat, scribbling a note.
Judge Conway’s eyes shift. “Prosecution, call your first witness.”
“The State calls Luc Knolson.”
I feel Jay go rigid beside me. Shane exhales through his nose.
A side door opens, and Luc steps into the courtroom.
It’s the first time we’ve seen him since that night.
He looks different from how I remember him at the barbecue.
He’s clean-shaven, hair combed, and wearing a pressed suit.
He walks slowly to the stand, eyes straight ahead, never once looking our way.
He places his hand on the Bible, swears in, and sits.
The prosecutor approaches. “Mr. Knolson. Can you describe what happened on the evening of May eleventh?”
Luc nods solemnly. “We were at a barbecue. I was drinking, just relaxing. Chatting with people. I said something to Johane, Doctor Larsen. I thought it was a compliment. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
He adjusts his tie. “Then suddenly I got punched. Everything went dark. I woke up in the hospital the next day with a broken face.”
The prosecutor rises and clicks a remote. A screen behind him lights up.
A photo appears showing Luc’s face visibly deformed, one eye swollen nearly shut, the skin around it dark and mottled. His cheekbone is misshapen. The bridge of his nose is crooked, his nostrils crusted with clotted red. A faint gasp ripples through the jury box. One juror leans back slightly.
The prosecutor flips to another photo, closer this time. The injury looks raw, swollen, violently immediate. Purple and red flood his features, the bone displacement clear.
“Mr. Knolson,” the DA says, “can you describe what it felt like waking up like that?”
Luc swallows. “It hurt. A lot. My face was so swollen I could barely see out of one eye. My head was pounding. I remember trying to breathe and tasting blood in my throat. I felt like my whole face was on fire. I didn’t even know what day it was.”
“Were you treated at the hospital?”
“Yes. They said I had a concussion. My nose was broken. There were fractures here—” he gestures vaguely to his cheekbone and his nose “—and the bruising went down into my neck.”
“Did the injuries affect your daily life?”
“It changed everything. I couldn’t drive myself anywhere.
Eating was hell, even drinking soup hurt.
I had to sleep sitting up because every time I lay down, the pain got worse.
I couldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time.
I couldn’t work and missed so many shifts I couldn’t pay my bills.
I almost got evicted from my apartment. For weeks, I just felt useless. ”
Some jurors are still looking at the photo. One closes their notepad and just stares at Luc. Another scribbles something quickly.
“And do you believe the response to your behavior that night was proportionate?”
Luc looks down, then back up. “No. I don’t think anything I said, drunk or not, justified that.”
The DA clicks the remote again, and the screen goes black. “No further questions.”
Judge Conway turns. “Defense?”